


blood on my hands (judgement incomplete)

by GetTheFreakingSalt



Series: Malec Appreciation Week 2017 [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 02:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11659731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GetTheFreakingSalt/pseuds/GetTheFreakingSalt
Summary: magnus recalls more detail about the day his mark showed, and alec is more than willing to listenwritten for day 1 ofmalec appreciation week 2017!





	1. 21st century new york

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little bit rewrite, little bit expansion of the day magnus's parents died. rating for violence, just in case!
> 
> for mobile users, translation can be found in the end notes! i don't know anyone who actually speaks dutch or indonesian, so i relied heavily (aka solely) on google translate - if you do speak those languages, i would be perfectly happy to listen to and take on board any corrections!
> 
> EDIT: massive thank you to slutherin for the translation help! <3

Je bent een gruwel, een verdomde verschrikking! Ik had je moeten vermoorden zodra je ogen veranderd waren, je monster!

Gruwel!

Gruwel!

gruWEL!

“Magnus?”

Magnus’s eyes snapped open as he gasped awake. His breathing came short and shaky, and it took several moments before he fully registered that he was in his bedroom in 21st century New York, not his mother’s in early 17th century Indonesia. Rays of early morning sunshine hung heavy in the air, lighting Alec from behind, and Magnus almost thought it could have been a halo. He lay propped up on one elbow, hand gently resting on Magnus’ bare chest and worried, hazel eyes searching his.

 _Angel,_ Magnus thought.

“Hey,” Alec said softly. “You okay?”

Magnus breathed out, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he looked at the ceiling.

“Just nightmares, sweetheart. Nothing for you to trouble yourself with.” 

“That’s not what I asked,” Alec said, hand moving up to hold Magnus’s face, thumb skirting over his cheekbone.

Magnus breathed out again, and closed his eyes. He loved how straightforward Alec was sometimes, and he still loved it now, but Alec had a way of seeing through every façade he put up with his bluntness and it unnerved him a little how easily Alec had taken up residence, not in his heart, but surrounding, enveloping, protecting it.

_Don’t push me away._

He sighed. “I- I’d pushed aside a lot of details about the day my mother di – killed herself. They’re still resurfacing.”

He paused, glancing at Alec. Alec’s brows were furrowed in the way they usually were whenever he gave anything his full attention, but his eyes were wide and compassionate and Magnus knew that Alec was asking for more, pleading with him to share his hurt.

“When I was born, Batavia was still Jayakarta, and the Dutch didn’t yet have a presence in the actual city. My stepfather was a merchant, working for the Dutch East India Company, and he and my mother lived in one of the very first houses built opposite Jayakarta, on the east bank of the Ciliwung.  
From what I remember about my very early childhood, I’d always had amber eyes, but human looking, and it made me fascinating to both adults and children. My stepfather always thought it was a sign he was meant for riches,” Magnus laughed a short, humourless laugh. “He never thought they would mean he was meant for ashes.”

Alec pressed a kiss to his temple. _Go on,_ it said.

_There is nothing ugly about you._

“That morning, my mark showed. I always used to get up early and go throw rocks into the river, so I didn’t know it’d happened. It was the other children that saw first, and they were cruel in that way only frightened children can be.  
The noise attracted my stepfather, who sent the other children away. I, at that point, was covered head to toe in river mud, so when he told me to wade out into the river it made sense. My mother made my clothes, I couldn’t let her see them like that, could I?” Magnus sighed, and looked over at Alec, who was still intently watching him with concern written all over his face. He sighed again, and looked back at the ceiling before continuing. He was worried that if he looked at Alec for too long, the love in his eyes would break any remaining dams holding Magnus’s tears back.

“He tried to drown me right then and there.”

Alec inhaled sharply.

“My mother came out before any real damage was done, but she saw my eyes before I fell unconscious. I saw her flinch away from me. When I woke up, I looked at my eyes in my mirror,” Magnus reached out and tapped the antique handheld mirror he kept on his bedside table, “I willed them to change for hours, and finally, they did, brown like all the others. I was so pleased with myself, happy that I’d fixed the problem - I went to show my mother and, well. You know the rest.” He choked back a sob as he reached the end of his story.

Alec reached over Magnus, cupping his cheek and gently pulling towards himself, willing Magnus to look at him.

“Hey. I think I know what you’re thinking, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that,” Alec said quietly, but with a force behind it that threatened to whisk Magnus away.

“Sometimes I wonder if he should have succeeded in the first place, if by killing him I proved myself to be the monster he feared,” Magnus whispered.

“You’re not a monster, Magnus. Not then, not now, not ever,” Alec whispered back.

“What am I then, if not an abomination to be feared?” A tear broke through, but before it could run down over his nose, Alec’s thumb had wiped it away.

“You’re Magnus Bane,” Alec pressed his lips to Magnus’s forehead. “You’re the High Warlock. You’re charming, and funny. You’re intelligent and wise. You’re so kind, and loving. You’re the beautiful, incredible man that I love.” Alec punctuated every sentence with a kiss, forehead to eyebrow, corner of his eye to cheekbone, to cheek and then finally, Magnus thought with tears still slowly trailing down his face, to his mouth.

They kissed over and over, slow and open, and Magnus thought he might drown in affection. He wasn’t instantly fixed by Alec’s love, no one could do that just by loving someone, but Magnus truly believed then that Alec’s love was enough to support him as he rebuilt himself. Being around Shadowhunters, he always felt keenly aware that they were half angel and he was half demon; being with Alec reminded him that they were all half human too.

He’d never felt more human than he did with Alexander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Je bent een gruwel, een verdomde verschrikking! Ik had je moeten vermoorden zodra je ogen veranderd waren, je monster!" - "You are an abomination, a damn terror! I should have killed you once your eyes changed, you monster!"
> 
> "Gruwel!" - "Abomination!"


	2. 17th century batavia

Early morning sunshine shimmered on the flowing waters of the wide river, sun rising behind the city and shining on the banks. To the small boy throwing stones as far as he could into the river, it seemed as wide as the ocean. One day, he told himself, he would be strong enough to throw a rock and have it reach the city. His father said there were places further than Jayakarta, whole other massive islands across water a thousand times bigger than the river, but he couldn’t even imagine.

“Hei Kuning! Datang dan lihat mainan ini yang diberikan orang kulit putih kepada kita!” Yellow. The other children called him that because of his eyes; not brown like theirs, but golden and glimmering. They thought he was special because of it. He hoped he would be special. He hoped he would be remembered for all of history: his father told him that good men didn’t seek that kind of fame, but great men did. He wanted to be the _best_.

He turned and grinned at the other children, who’d been running down the banks towards him, hands holding little wooden boats like the ships the white men came in.

“Apa kamu punya satu lagi untukku?” he asked.

The girl in front skidded to a halt. He thought she was pretty, and maybe one day, after he came back from school in Europe with his father, he might marry her. He hadn’t decided yet. He might never come back, sail the oceans and discover lots of new islands with pretty girls on them.

“Ya, di sini-“ she started excitedly, hands outstretched, and then she frowned. “Apa yang salah dengan matamu?”

“Mereka kuning? Mereka selalu berwarna kuning.”

“Tidak, mereka terlihat seperti mata kucing.”

“Apa?”

The other children reached them, and were staring, mouths agape. One of the boys, a bit bigger than he was (but not quite as handsome, he thought) pushed in front of the girl and put an arm out to protect her.

“Dia monster! Lihatlah, Adriana!”

“Aku bukan monster! Aku adalah aku!”

The other boy pushed him over, and he fell sprawling into the wet river mud. “Diam, monster!”

The children huddled together, stepping back from him as he struggled to get up, finding no traction in the mud. In Dutch, they began to chant:  
“Gruwel! Gruwel! Gruwel!

“Wat gebeurt er hier?” an adult man demanded as he strode up to them. _His father!_ He’d stop them being mean to him – his father was important here, and they knew it.

“Kijk, meneer!” another girl shouted out, pointing at him, sitting up and covered in mud. He looked up, and looked his father in the eyes, silently begging for help. His father appeared not to show much emotion, but his face turned hard and stony, and he worried that he was in trouble. He thought that would be unfair, if he was – he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Ga terug naar je huizen, kinderen.” They didn’t think twice, running off. He stood up, rubbing his elbow where he’d landed funny. He was covered in mud, and hoped he hadn’t ruined his nice red shirt.

“Komen. Je moet opruimen.” His father’s face was an implacable mask, as he stared up at him with wide eyes, and he nodded. He felt a hand on his back push him towards the river, and he guessed it was probably so his mother didn’t find out the shirt she had made looked so horrible. He didn’t want to upset his mother. He walked towards the river, wading out waist deep – knee deep for his father. He looked back, and the mask had slipped. All he saw was hatred.

“Jij bent geen zoon van mij. Heer, vergeef me.” And he was pushed under.

He held his breath as soon as he felt the water hit his face, and went to surface, only to find a hand on his head holding him under. He couldn’t understand why, what – he struggled, breath beginning to run out, as white lights began to pop into his vision – 

“Wat is er gaande?!” he heard as he began to fade, and he was yanked out by the scruff of his shirt and bodily thrown onto the bank. He heard the splashing of his father making his way out as he coughed and spluttered for breath at his mother’s feet. 

“Raak het niet aan!” She had moved as if to pick him up, but stopped at the man’s words.

“Het? Dit is onze zoon!”

“Kijk naar zijn ogen, vrouw. Dit is een changeling, een monster!” He looked up, and saw his mother recoil as their eyes met. He felt as though he’d been stabbed, and the emotional pain on top of physical proved to be too much for his small body as he promptly fell unconscious.

 

He woke up, dry and on his bed. It seemed a few hours had passed, and he thought it might have all been a dream – or at least, he hoped. All hopes were dashed when he moved and felt the aches in his muscles come roaring back to life. His mama had clearly dried him, put him to bed, because he could smell her on him, the distinct fragrance embodying _home, safety, love_.

He pulled his handheld mirror from his small bedside storage box; once, when his father had gone away for a while, he’d asked what he’d most like him to bring back from Amsterdam. He’d asked for the little mirror, like the rich ladies had in the stories he was told by his father.

He held it up, scared to see what had scared everyone else so suddenly but knowing he had to. Wide eyes, mostly the same as before, looked back at him, but his pupils were different. They were large, almost swallowing the colour save for a thin ring of amber around them, but in a split second they constricted and became thin slits. _Like a cat, like a monster._

 _Hide_ , he thought. They flickered slightly. _Hide them!_

It didn’t work. He tried again.

And again.

Over and over.

He repeated himself, trying to get further than a small flicker, for what felt like centuries. He had no idea why he thought it would work, he just knew, a tingling in his nerves and bones, and finally, eventually, his eyes faded gradually to a deep brown, like all the other children had. He was normal.

“Mama?” he called out joyfully, to no response.

He swung to the edge of the bed, and dropped down onto the wooden floor where he found his indoor shoes and put them on. The air was still hot and heavy, and when he looked outside the shadows were long. His stomach rumbled once he realised he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

He padded outside, still clutching the mirror, across the open corridor that connected his room and the main living area to his mother’s – he didn’t understand why his house was like that when everyone else’s was all together, but his papa said it was better.

He crossed into his parents’ room, and felt relief at seeing his mama in bed asleep. She hadn’t left him. He could show her he was normal, she wouldn’t have to leave him.

“Mama?” he said, walking towards her. 

“Mama?” he lifted the blanket.

It was then he realised that his mama was too still, too cold to be asleep. The blade stuck in her chest, the crimson staining her dress, was all he could focus on, background noise fading to a buzz in his ears. He reached out and touched the knife, to check if it was real, if he weren’t still sleeping.

It was real.

“Mama!” he screamed, dropping the mirror and barely registering it shattering.

His father ran into the room, taking in the scene before him. His face showed shock, horror, despair, and when he turned to the boy it changed not to anger, but to a level of disgust that broke the boy’s heart. He felt the cover he’d so desperately wished for fade away, unable to maintain it in the wake of such heartbreak.

“Je bent een gruwel, een verdomde verschrikking! Ik had je moeten vermoorden zodra je ogen veranderd waren, je monster!” his father shouted, making his way towards him.  
The boy flinched back and ducked, arms flying out to protect himself. His hand, which was still on the knife, pulled the blade out and brandished it without thinking, his other hand open-palmed. He didn’t do anything! Why was his papa being like this? He couldn’t understand, wanted him to stop, to go away. He thought that maybe this was a demon, sent to scare him, and it just needed to go back to Hell and burn for eternity.

_It should burn._

The screaming was like nothing he’d ever heard before.

His papa was engulfed in flames, sprouting from his outstretched empty hand. He yelled, flames juddering to a halt, but his father kept burning, kept screaming in agony. He didn’t know what to done, what he had done, but his body was telling him to move and he couldn’t fight it. He grabbed his mirror and ran.

He practically flew out of the house, blade in his left hand and broken mirror in the right. Stumbling up the grassy slope, subconsciously preparing to head into the hinterlands, he looked back to see the entire house engulfed in magical flame. His mama, his papa, his home, burning brightly against the dark night.

And with the raging fire of his childhood, his innocence, his humanity behind him, he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Hei Kuning! Datang dan lihat mainan ini yang diberikan orang kulit putih kepada kita!” - "Hey Yellow! Come and see this toy that the white people gave us!
> 
> “Apa kamu punya satu lagi untukku??” he asked. – “Do you have another one for me?” he asked.
> 
> “Ya, di sini-“ she started excitedly, hands outstretched, and then she frowned. “Apa yang salah dengan matamu?”  
> “Mereka kuning? Mereka selalu berwarna kuning.”  
> “Tidak, mereka terlihat seperti mata kucing.”  
> “Apa?”  
> "Yes, here-" she started excitedly, hands outstretched, and then she frowned. "What's wrong with your eyes?"  
> "They're yellow? They're always yellow. "  
> "No, they look like cat eyes."  
> "What?"
> 
> “Dia monster! Lihatlah, Adriana!”  
> “Aku bukan monster! Aku adalah aku!”  
> The other boy pushed him over, and he fell sprawling into the wet river mud. “Diam, monster!”  
> “He’s a monster! Look at it, Adriana!”  
> “I’m not a monster! I’m me!”  
> The other boy pushed him over, and he fell sprawling into the wet river mud. “Shut up, monster!”
> 
> “Gruwel! Gruwel! Gruwel!” – “Abomination! Abomination! Abomination!”
> 
> “Wat gebeurt er hier?” – “What’s going on here?”
> 
> “Kijk, meneer!” – “Look, sir!”
> 
> “Ga terug naar je huizen, kinderen.” – “Go back to your homes, children.”
> 
> “Komen. Je moet opruimen.” – “Come. You have to clean up.”
> 
> “Jij bent geen zoon van mij. Heer, vergeef me.” – “You are not my son. Lord, forgive me.”
> 
> “Wat is er gaande?!” – “What is going on?!”
> 
> “Raak het niet aan!” – “Do not touch it!”
> 
> "Het? Dit is onze zoon!” – “It? This is our son!”
> 
> “Kijk naar zijn ogen, vrouw. Dit is een changeling, een monster!” – “Look at his eyes, woman. This is a changeling, a monster!”
> 
> “Je bent een gruwel, een verdomde verschrikking! Ik had je moeten vermoorden zodra je ogen veranderd waren, je monster!” – “You are an abomination, a damn terror! I should have killed you once your eyes changed, you monster!”


End file.
